Memories
by Kirmon64
Summary: Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. ::A ficseries containing multiple oneshots. Contains spoilers for ACiT, read at your own risk.::
1. Eye of the Eons

So I'm on a bit of a Ratchet&Clank kick right now. Have been for... a month at least, lolz. Not sure how much longer it'll last but hey... might as well write something while it's here right? ^_^

This'll be a ficseries of sorts... each chapter will be its own standalone oneshot for the most part, though some will relate to others. Just a warning, there will be slash (and if I get that far, femslash) later on, though I'll mark those chapters in bold or something.

*random* Am I the only one disappointed by the fact that the character list thing has Lance and Janice of all characters, but no IRIS? Come on people, give the supercomputer-with-an-awesome-voice some love :/

Alright, onto ficcage! XD

**Rated For:** Later chapters. Swearing, innuendos, blood, half-scrapped robots, the usual.  
**Uploaded:** Jan08/10 (my god it's 2010 already?)

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"A moment lasts all of a second, but the memory lives on forever." ~Unknown

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IRIS awoke.

The very first thing she did, as always, was to thoroughly check her massive databanks for any errors, be they corrupted files or a physical defect in the hundreds of different types of hard drives she employed. Often, especially if the time span between her periods of full consciousness was long, some of the drives would fail thanks to age. Less often, but still far too frequent for her liking, some other being had damaged them or even physically removed them from her structure. The great majority of the information she contained was also stored in various servers scattered around the galaxy, so it had been a very long time indeed since she had well and truly lost any sort of data. This time, the software was fully intact. The hardware, however...

It seemed that the pirates had returned for a brief period after her last awakening and had wreaked havoc throughout her superstructure yet again. The halo of ice surrounding the metal - what protected her from prying eyes, because oftentimes she looked like an ordinary comet - was melting off, as well, so she was nearing the solar system's star. The freezing cold water had seeped deep inside in some places and quite a few drives had been fried that way. She would have to replace thirty-nine drives completely, and find a way to repair many others.

After a moment's consideration, IRIS sent out a call with every type of communications device she possessed. If any of her information seekers still lived, they would return as fast as they possibly could. If they had all died - as was likely, considering the amount of time that had passed - then her summons would attract the attention of explorers and thrill-seekers and perhaps even whatever galactic civilization existed now. Any of them would offer assistance in return for the knowledge she held. She had learned that eons ago.

IRIS fell back into standby mode, content to wait for as long as she needed.

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IRIS awoke - but this time it wasn't to near-empty power reserves.

Someone had heard the call. No new information had been entered into her database, so it was not one of her information seekers. However, they were not hostile - otherwise they would not have attached quite so many power cells to her structure. Two hundred twenty-one, to be exact. Whoever they were, they were most considerate. These cells would last another revolution around the star; more than long enough for her purposes.

It hadn't been long since she'd sent out the call, and thus she only ran a cursory scan of her databanks. One more drive had failed and two more had incurred damage - she needed to find some method of sealing them against the water...

Now was not the time, however. Her visitor was waiting.

She activated the audio sensors in her central alcove first. It would not do for her to be unable to translate the visitor's language before speaking to it. In order to translate, she first needed a sample. As she expected, the language was unfamiliar. Of course, that was no issue; no language was so dissimilar from her amassed glossary so as to be untranslatable. This one would be no different.

Her visual sensors came online next, their internals slow from cold. For several minutes she watched and listened silently as the visitor talked, first to her, then to itself. It was similar in appearance to a great many of the species she had encountered - evolution seemed to favor a symmetrical, bipedal design with the majority of the sensory organs located in the head. This particular species' skin was nearly hairless, lacked any sort of markings, and was a monotonous brown hue. After having seen the sheer variety of possible designs she had, it came across as rather bland. Even its clothing was somewhat uninspired; it was certainly quiet detailed, but it was entirely in various shades of black and brown.

_'Similarities to the languages of a Class-Five civilization in spiral galaxy M-3497, quadrant Alpha, sector 36-B, system E-58. Species' physiology is a 98.7% match to the physiology of the sentient species from system E-58. Species was bi-gendered - bioscans indicate the current specimen is of the 'male' gender. Information updated. Civilization possessed multiple dominant languages in addition to many minor languages. Current language possesses phrases and words borrowed from the languages, in addition to modified slang. Cross-referencing. No current term for the species' name has been given. Most widespread language during the time period in which previous information was gathered used the term 'Human'. Until current term is given, 'Human' will be used. Building glossary from previous information gathered and current specimen's dialect...'_

IRIS activated her speech synthesizer, and with it her multitude of secondary screens flickered to life. "Hello."

The Human jumped, a sign of surprise that seemed near-universal. "Er... hi. How long 'ave you been... awake?"

She noticed that the Human was reaching inside his garment. Scans revealed an object, likely a weapon, hidden on his person. It was not anything that would harm her, however, and so she ignored it. "Eleven minutes and twenty-six seconds. What do you wish to ask me?"

"Er..."

Odd. It was rare that her visitors did not know what exactly they wished to ask. Odder still that this Human had likely devoted some time to restoring her to power... and yet did not know what to ask. Of course, it was possible that all memory of her existence had been forgotten, and so the Human didn't know what he'd been powering. An illogical move; but then again, organics were rarely logical.

"...Who are you? _What_ are you?"

"I am the IRIS Supercomputer. I know everything," she replied promptly. Yes, she had been forgotten - but she had been in hibernation a long time, so that was to be expected. She didn't really mind anyways. It had happened 209,756 times previously, after all.

"...Uh-huh." He was skeptical. Very skeptical. That, at least, was normal. Organic species simply could not comprehend the vast amount of knowledge she possessed; even most mechanoids had difficulties. "An' I suppose I'm the Governor of Reach?"

Ah, sarcasm. The bane of her existence. "That information is unavailable at this time."

"Ah, but I thought y'knew _everythin'_."

"I do," she responded, "That information simply has not been recorded yet. If you return in several decades, I will possess that knowledge."

The Human seemed to ponder that for a moment before letting out a dry chuckle. "So yer basically just a big ol' library. One that's missin' some of its datapads."

IRIS was silent. She didn't particularly like the comparisons to herself and a library. The comparisons to a search engine were only marginally better. She was so much more than that. She alone held the records on millions of long-gone civilizations. She alone carried the recollections of trillions of beings' lives within her vast mind. She alone could calculate pi to its final digit, knew that a tree falling in a forest with no one around to hear it did indeed make a sound, and knew precisely how many licks it took to get to the center of a tootsie pop. She alone had witnessed the rise and fall of uncountable civilizations, species, planets, _stars_. She was the IRIS Supercomputer - the Eye that gazed through the eons.

She said none of this, of course. She'd long ago learned that the majority of her visitors didn't appreciate her 'egotism', as some of them put it. Better to remain silent than drive away a potential information seeker.

After an extended silence, the Human began to fidget. He was likely becoming unnerved by her continued silence. She wasn't going to break it, though - let him do it. It was his place to lead the conversation, to ask the questions, not hers. "...All right. Tell me somethin' that you _do_ remember." There was a note of challenge, of defiance in the Human's voice.

IRIS considered.

She recalled the time of her last awakening. Before she had gone into hibernation, that was. For organic species, it had been quite some time ago - approximately forty revolutions of her star. The Humans hadn't spread to this galaxy at that point... they hadn't even left their own solar system. The last galactic civilization had certainly fallen sometime during that span; she could detect no transmissions of the type they had used. There were, however, transmissions of a different type - millions of them. She'd begun to process them as soon as her transceivers had come online. The Humans were certainly part of the new galactic civilization that had risen to take the place of the old one. They were a major part of it, in fact. Possibly one of its founders. Perhaps, then, she should elaborate on what had been here before the Humans. She had found that most species were very interested in history, and judging by the information she had gathered on them, Humans were no different.

"I will tell you the tale of the beings who last restored power to my mind, and the stories of those whose lives intertwined with theirs. They lived approximately eight thousand of your years ago; long before your civilization arose. There is likely no other record left of their lives. Despite this, I would confidently list them amongst the greatest heroes the universe has known."

"Their names were Ratchet and Clank, and these are their memories."


	2. Doomsday Clock

Well I planned on uploading a Clank chapter first but he refused to cooperate... so you get a very belated Orvus chapter instead ^^

Inspired by "Doomsday Clock" by Smashing Pumpkins.

**Uploaded**: April 22 / 2010

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"Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this, I am blessed to see the hour of my death... To face my apportioned fate, then fall."  
_~Emperor Uriel Septim, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion_

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My boys.

My dear, dear boys.

I wish I didn't have to record this message to the two of you. I really wish I didn't. But, you see, the Zoni perceive time somewhat differently from the beings native to this dimension. It's the reason we were able to build the Great Clock, I suppose. We're a bit less... linear than you. We can see the future, in a way. No, that's not right. We can see future _possibilities_, and we can tell which are the most probable. We're wrong sometimes, of course. The multiverse wouldn't be fun without surprises, hehehe.

...Of course... sometimes I do wish there were more of them.

You see, when the Great Clock allows you to play back this message, I will no longer be with you. I wouldn't _quite_ call it death; the Zoni never truly die, and my soul is far too fractured at this point for it to completely dissipate. Regardless... you won't see me again, Sigmund. I am sorry. And you, XJ-0461 - no, Clank - I will never meet you. I do wish I could. You've no idea how much I wish I could. I want to meet you - truly meet you. I want to have a nice, long conversation with you and catch up on everything I've missed. I don't want to have to watch from a galaxy away as you go on another of those ridiculous adventures with your Lombax friend. I don't want to watch as you find - well. I suppose that will be in your future, won't it? I'll preserve the surprise for you, hehehe.

And you, Sigmund. I know I've been neglecting you somewhat for the past decade and I am sorry. I know it's been "XJ-0461" this and "XJ-0461" that, and I am sorry for that too. You know how I am sometimes - too caught up in my own personal projects to pay attention to other things. Don't think it's because he's my son - because you are too. I may not have designed you, I may not have convinced a finicky computer to build you, I may not have used a part of my soul to give you life... but I love you every bit as much as I do Clank. In some way, I am glad for the catastrophe in space-time that destroyed the civilization that built you. Without it, I never would have met you and you would be long gone.

The universe works in strange ways, doesn't it? Had I not found you, I would never have considered that I would someday have to leave the Great Clock in the hands of another. And, thus, Clank never would have been built, and the universe would be a very different place indeed... if it even existed at all. Even if I had created Clank despite that, the final battle for my Chamber would have yielded a very different result without your presence. I know you sometimes lack confidence, Sigmund, and I know that sometimes you feel that you are useless. I wish I had thought to tell you otherwise before now, because you are neither. You are brave and you are responsible, and without you the Great Clock would not run nearly as smoothly as it does now.

I think the both of you will get along. You both have similar personalities, after all, having been heavily influenced by my own. Still, you are your own beings, and neither of you are truly Zoni - so you won't carry our 'allergy to arguing', hehe. Just try not to bicker too much, hmm? The Clock may not react particularly well to it, I fear, and you may find yourselves in a rather precarious situation if you carry on too long. Hehehe.

...You know, speaking of the Clock...

There _is_ one thing I'm curious about. You see, when we began construction on the Great Clock, I was the first to interact with her. We are linked, her and I, and it's affected me in ways I still don't understand completely. There is, for example, a certain... sound. I don't know if either of you can hear it... I'd never thought to ask before now. The rest of the Zoni, as far as I can tell, cannot. I can't be quite certain... which I suppose might seem odd to the two of you, seeing as we're something of a hive mind. A collective, if you will. I, however, am both part of this collective and yet separate from it. A collective of one. It is a burden I've carried all my life, one that makes me who I am. I'll admit it's a very lonely thing - being so near to others, and yet so far. The Zoni need the presence of others to survive - I'm sure both of you have learned this by now - and so sometimes I wonder how I've kept my sanity intact for so long. Sometimes I wonder if I haven't already lost it.

Especially with this... sound.

I can hear it now, you know. As clearly as I can hear my own voice and the workings of the Clock around me. It started when the Great Clock first came online, and it hasn't stopped since. In one of her rare poetic moments, she called it the heartbeat of the universe... yes, Sigmund, she does have her poetic moments. It's been three thousand, two hundred, and thirty-four years of that sound. Clear as a bell, I believe the term is. It's enough to drive anyone mad.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock...

It wasn't always like this. Oh no. Once, I regarded it as a sound of hope, of life. Every moment it continues, the universe lives on, and so I hope it never stops. However... I can't look at it quite the same anymore. To me, it's no longer a purely benevolent sound. For every second it continues... every cycle it goes through... I know my end comes closer. I've forseen the end of my life, and I know it will be far from pleasant. I won't give you the details; I'm sure neither of you want to hear them. When the time comes, should you wish to delve deeper... you'll know who to ask.

Of course... I've heard of the concept of destiny, and I have to say I don't believe in it. The future is not absolute; it can still be altered. I've seen things I was certain would take place, and they didn't. I've seen things I'd never thought could conceivably happen, and then they did. Perhaps this will be the case. Perhaps this message will never be played. Perhaps it will be stored in the Clock's memory banks forever. I do hope this will be the case. If it isn't...

...I must leave now. My ship is ready for the journey to Zanifar. Whatever happens, know that I love you both dearly. Take care of each other, my sons.

End recording.


	3. Promise Me

Crossposted from deviantArt. Inspired by Dead by April's "Promise Me".

**Uploaded:** June 26 / 2010  
**Rating:** K+

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"Promise me, Clank. Promise me you'll..." and the Lombax takes a deep breath, and his silvery-yellow ears quiver with the force of it.

Under the thinning, paling fur and the armor that covers it, there lies a painfully thin body. Not from lack of food. Not from disease. Simply age. Time is a creature who pursues her prey all their lives, and she has never gone hungry yet. Never been outran, outmaneuvered, outlasted; not even those who control her can hope to do so.

The chest rises and falls again, and the brittle ribcage barely contains the breath. "...Promise me this, Clank."

The eyes, set far back in sunken, wrinkled sockets, showed the milky-white of blindness; but there was still bright, emerald green there. Still life; still attentive intellect in the mind despite the failing body. The intensity of the gaze was unwavering, though the body shivered and shuddered in the throes of Time.

"I promise."

He does not know what he is promising, but that does not matter, because it will be within his means, and even if it were not he would go to the ends of the universe one last time. One last time for the other half of his soul, one last adventure to fulfil one last obligation.

The eyes close, dusty lids sliding over them, and the body relaxes as it lets out its breath, and if it were not for his sensors he would have thought that ancient body had ceased to function.

"Promise me to think of us as something beautiful; promise me me to think of us as we were so long ago, when we were still bright and colorful..."

A hand lifts, the fur covering it already faded to silver, its knobbly joints creaking in protest. He supports it with his own, and his strength is more than enough for it now. It is skin and bones and _willpower_ and little else, and it seems as though it will break from the lightest of touches. The eyes open and he thinks that the milk-white has receded and the emerald green is all that captures his gaze, and he has never seen a look so open and content and _loving_ as he has now.

"Promise me to look back at us as something amazing, something irreplaceable... as a time you enjoyed."

There is no hesitation, and how could there be? He nods and he smiles a smile that he hopes is as sincere as the look in the Lombax's eyes, because he wants the last thing he sees to be supporting and loving and above all a _promise_ to do the one thing he's been asked, because he could never let down the other half of his soul.

The Lombax nods once, slowly, and the emerald eyes burn into him with their own secret smile, and then they slide shut as the body once more goes limp. This time, it is not simply a matter of appearances. This time, it is _real_.

Clank closes his optics and touches his forehead to the Lombax's hand, and he tries not to let the emptiness overtake him.

"Goodbye, Ratchet."


	4. Flawed Design

**Rating:** K+/T  
**Uploaded:** August 5/2010

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Klunk is missing a piece of his soul.

He can feel it as sharply as an organic would feel a missing limb... or so he figures, at least. He doesn't know what missing a limb would feel like, and the thought of disgusting organic fluids spilling everywhere gives him cause to shudder.

Still, the metaphor is apt. Organics can survive without a limb (or two, or three) if they get medical attention, and they can even get prosthetics to replace their missing pieces. The replacements, however, can never match up to the original. Something will forever be different. Wrong. Broken.

He wonders what he'd be if he had all of his pieces. What if the Doctor hadn't given him this mockery of what should have been, but the genuine article? He knows he'd be different. Maybe extremely different. He wouldn't be Klunk. He might be Clank, though.

He's seen the blueprints for his frame, which is of course identical to his nemesis', and there are things in there that he doesn't recognize. He's sure the Doctor couldn't make heads or tails of them either, because what's actually in his body doesn't match what _should_ be in his body. There are bits and pieces with no name and apparently no function. A strange device whose energy output wavers for no discernable reason. A secondary processor that is overclocked far past its boundaries - yet continues to function.

But, if Clank has these parts (and he does, of course) then they must have a purpose. Perhaps it is just that silly thing organics call a 'gut feeling', but he _knows_ that they do something. Maybe Clank knows. Maybe he doesn't. As much as it pains him to follow his organic-loving counterpart, he's fairly certain that he'll learn the truth of his (their) frames eventually. There isn't much else left for him in the universe, anyway.

So he watches, and waits. Always out of sight, and though Clank has expressed worry as to his whereabouts, Ratchet always brushes it off. He can be grateful to the Lombax for that, can't he? He might not like organics, but he can appreciate their help when it benefits him.

He follows the two of them for four long years. He follows them to Dreadzone, morbidly interested in seeing his twin die. He's mildly disappointed when they succeed in their escape. Then it's the Technomites, or what's left of them, and by that point Klunk finds himself rather annoyed with their dawdling. Did Clank have no urge to discover his origins? Did he honestly believe that he had been a glitch born on Quartu? Was he truly that stupid?

Out of sheer boredom he devises a plan to separate the two, if only for a time. They aren't going to remain separate for long, seeing as this is _Ratchet and Clank_, but hey, boredom. The Doctor had more of an effect on him than he'd thought. Up to and including ridiculous schemes for no reason whatsoever, apparently.

He's right. He's basically destroyed by the end of it, but it was fun while it lasted. It gives him other pains to concentrate on besides the one he can never fix. It takes him a long time to rebuild himself. As a side benefit, spending several months as a vacuum cleaner courtesy of Ratchet does _wonders_ for his damned fondness of the Lombax.

By the time he's back to himself - sans the ridiculous gold suit - he's lost track of his quarry. Fame has its benefits, however, and eventually he tracks them down. It's impossible for a celebrity to vanish completely, even if they leave the galaxy. It takes another half-year to get to Polaris, and almost as long to find out what's happened to the two of them. Clank is missing. Klunk despairs. Not in the same way as Ratchet, oh no - he doesn't _mourn_. Doesn't mourn for Clank, at any rate.

Not that he needed to. Sometimes he forgets that the universe is always on Ratchet and Clank's side. Clank may be missing, but he isn't dead. Not by a long shot. Neither is the Doctor. He very nearly approaches his builder for help, but he's isn't as naive or dependant as his counterpart. He can handle himself just fine without the presence of a very less-than-sane Doctor. Though the butler... is a blessing in disguise.

Following Lawrence brings him straight to... _someplace_. He's not entirely sure of what it is, but he _does_ know that nowhere in the universe feels more like home.

Klunk wanders the massive structure, more than happy to lose himself in it. There's an energy here. Wild, unrestrained - though behind it, there's a soothing softness. It's the second one he's looking for. He's been looking for it since his creation. He's so close... giving up now is not an option.

Days pass. Or is it weeks, or months? Time moves strangely here, or maybe it's just his mind conjuring fanciful imaginings. He doesn't particularly care how long he's been at this place, anyway. He has all the time in the world... or perhaps not. Something changes without warning. The drones waver in their pathways as the machinery shudders. Gears slip, glass cracks, and a hush falls.

Something's very wrong.

The behemoth structure is falling apart around him. The computer's calm voice has gained a note of panic, and the stars that were once near-stationary whirl by at an impossible speed. Klunk has never been compassionate or progressed beyond simple self-preservation, but this time...

He runs as fast as his legs can carry him to the source of the - whatever it is. A dormant instrument in his frame has woken, and it unerringly indicates the direction he must go. He doesn't know if he'll be able to stop it. It doesn't matter. He _cares_ about this place, and if it's destroyed...

By the time he's gotten there it's too late for him to do anything. Beyond showing himself to the Lombax and robot he knows so well, that is. He can't begin to fathom what exactly has happened. But it's over now, and the structure is still mostly intact, and he's glad for that.

It's another two weeks as they fix what Klunk comes to know as the Great Clock. He keeps himself hidden from the Clock's inhabitants, though always within earshot. It's through them that he learns the history of this place and the robot tied to it... _robots_ tied to it, because he's practically Clank, isn't he? All that's different between the two of them are their life experiences, their age, and a piece of Orvus' soul.

With that revelation, Klunk realizes he _is_ Clank. He's more Clank than Clank himself. What's left of Orvus has influenced his twin enough that he's barely his own person. He realizes that Orvus is the missing piece, the pain he's felt all his life. He wishes, however briefly, that he could have met his - other father? The being ultimately responsible for his creation, at any rate.

He's there as the final message to Clank plays. He isn't surprised when Clank evades Orvus' original plans for him, and he thinks that Orvus probably wouldn't have been surprised either. His twin and the rat are inseparable, after all. It's disgusting, frankly, but at least this way he has the Clock to himself... nearly. The Zoni are here, though that's more or less the reason he wants to be here. He _craves_ their energy. They aren't Orvus, but they're more than adequate to fill the void.

And there's his - brother, half-brother? He isn't sure; using organic terms to describe how he's related to Sigmund is an exercise in futility. The new Senior Caretaker is nearly alone. He can't communicate with the Zoni, and his relationship with the computer is an antagonistic one. It isn't long before Sigmund is talking to inanimate objects, and though Klunk finds it rather amusing, he decides he should show himself before his companion completely loses his mind.

Sigmund mistakes him for Clank at first, and is overjoyed to see him. His optics are still his own particular shade of red, however, and the two of them get into a scuffle before things are sorted out. They're still not on the best of terms, but it's civil enough. A friendship is developing, and Klunk surprises himself when he realizes that he honestly likes Sigmund. The Zoni are having an effect on him, it seems.

Beyond the unfamiliar feeling of friendship, he's discovered another change. He's _happy_. He likes it. This is _home_, and there's nowhere else in the universe he'd rather be, nothing else he'd rather be doing. He has no intentions of leaving without a fight. He's well aware of the fact that Orvus' message wasn't meant for him. It doesn't matter. Klunk decides to listen anyway.

It's high time he did that which makes him feel whole, after all.


	5. Strawberry Avalanche

A sequel of sorts to the last chapter... I just really liked this idea, haha. Not sure if it's part of my personal fanon, though... pft, who am I kidding? I totally ship the two of them now anyways...

I promise I'll write something non-Clock related... eventually. |D

Inspired by Owl City's "Strawberry Avalanche". Owl City fits Sigmund so well though, aha. Cloudcuckoolander cheerfulness, anyone?

**Warning:** contains slash of the fluffy variety  
Uploaded: Sept 02/2010

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_this is a world of dreams / and revelry..._

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"Are you sure this is a good idea, Sigmund...?"

He paused in his work to look at me. "Yeah, of course! What could go wrong?"

I chose not to reply to that. I had, much as it pains me to say, grown to trust Sigmund over the years we had lived together at the Great Clock. I had anticipated that turn of events, of course, as living in isolation with another amicable being will foster a friendship very quickly, and it has been repeated to me many times that friendship is nothing without trust. Nevertheless, I was a good deal more... _sensible_ the majority of the time. His wild ideas and the scatterbrained manner in which he chose to attempt them had resulted in more mishaps than I cared to count.

That, and the moment someone says 'what could go wrong?' something invariably _does_. Something about tempting fate, I believe.

"Shouldn't take too long now... just gotta reverse the polarizer's flux and..."

I was content to listen with one audio and record the more pertinent parts of his commentary. I am a quick learner, but the Great Clock is a massive structure, and I have not had nearly enough time to be versed in all its functions. Many of its less-used systems remain a mystery to me, the Mnemonic Chambers amongst them.  
What little I have managed to piece together from my companion's ramblings indicates that they work with pre-installed programs on one's hard drives to create a 'dreamworld' of sorts. To the being running the program, the dreamworld is as real as reality itself. Apparently it is possible to be gravely injured simply through _believing _one is injured. Sigmund refused to elaborate on the subject, much to my chagrin.

Mnemonic Station Epsilon was our current location. Sigmund had wanted to use the Iota Station, as it was the only one to still not suffer from glitches, though for once I had decided to risk the potential danger. The incredibly large number of puns Sigmund had been able to come up with astonished me, and to be honest I found myself rather glad I had never met Orvus. The thought of my using anywhere near that many gives me cause to shudder.

"Alright! I think we're done!" Sigmund tossed his tool somewhere behind the both of us. I had never quite figured out why he kept the tools on his belt. He never used them; in fact, his using any tool more than once was more often than not a result of one of the Time-Cleaners returning it to its proper place. I can understand the Clock's irritation; for a former trash cleaner, he is remarkably poor at picking up after himself.

"Okay, here goes... you coming?"

"Of course."

He was rather eager to get this latest idea underway, it seemed. He was in the Chamber in moments, optics dimmed and frame limp. I wondered what his dreamworld would appear to be. I supposed that I would be finding out shortly.

I paused before I entered the Chamber. I recalled that speaking to the Clock before we travelled into Sigmund's mind was my responsibility. Communicating with her in lieu of my companion was a task I had been given rather quickly. The two of them were... far from friends, so it was a sensible assignment.

"You will revive us should anything happen?"

"Affirmative," she replied. "I am sure I will be able to run myself for the time being."

I appreciated her sense of humor. I find it is much like mine. Being that, of course, since Orvus' death she had very nearly been running herself. Our role is little more than that of janitors. Wind the Time-Cleaners and do the few things they cannot, and make some sort of attempt to keep the Zoni occupied. The first lesson I learned as Caretaker was that hiveminded energy beings can cause a _great_ deal of mischief when bored and leaderless.

I nodded in affirmation and followed Sigmund into the Chamber. There was just enough space for both of us, though it was uncomfortably cramped. I am... not enthused with small spaces; bad experiences during my travels. Still, it was far better than some of the places I had been, and it was easy enough to push Sigmund aside very slightly. I would survive until the simulation had ended, at any rate.

I initiated the mnemonic program and shuttered my optics, and let my mind wander as best I could.

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When I opened my optics again... well. I no longer needed to wonder what Sigmund's dreamworld appeared as. I was rather glad he had not insisted we use mine, as I am sure it would have been... far less welcoming. I may be many things, but eager to distress Sigmund is not one of them.

"Sigmund... where is this place?"

"I dunno! Orvus said it might be something my subconscious remembers from before he found me... I guess Viceron might have looked like this before the accident."

I had never seen Viceron before, nor heard of it outside of its occasional mention by Sigmund, so I could neither agree nor disagree. It was certainly a calm world, at any rate; an endless expanse of gently waving grass below and pale blue sky above. There was evidence of a long-gone civilization in the ruined stone structures around us. Forests were visible in the distance; we seemed to be in a rather large meadow. It was a quieting place.

Sigmund approached me. Or, perhaps 'bounced' would be a better word, regardless of the fact that he floated. "You know what? I think we should look different for a little while. Like maybe organics?"

I had no time to protest. He knew of my... dislike of squishies, certainly, though he had a tendency to brush it aside if not forget completely. Perhaps I had not been clear enough... I made a mental note to remind him later.

Sigmund stood changed before me moments later. "How's this? I decided to kinda follow what I look like, which was hard, but-"

"...A Lombax." To say I was not impressed would be something of an understatement.

"Well, I haven't seen many organic species, and I've never been close to one as long as I was close to Ratchet, so I got to get a good scan of - wait, you don't like it?"

My reply was curt. I had seen more than enough of one Lombax in my life. "No."

I regretted it quickly. Organic faces are remarkably good at emoting, and Sigmund was remarkably good at provoking the correct response in me, no matter his form. "Oh... Okay. I'll go back. I just thought-"

"You may remain as a Lombax, if you wish." I was sure I would regret that decision later, but I would have to deal with that eventuality when it arrived. At least the voice was still the same; I could simply imagine he was still robotic. Or, rather... try to.

"Really?" His face... 'lit up', I believe the expression is, and he came very close to hugging me. I did manage to dodge that; I could tolerate his appearing as a Lombax, but his touching me would be unacceptable. He realized this after another failed attempt and stepped back. "Well, thanks. Y'know, you could probably change what you look like too..."

"No." I knew what he was hoping for, and I could find no words to express my distaste for the very idea. Distaste, in fact, might be too mild a word. Perhaps _loathing_.

"Aww, but... You're so small! Please, Klunk?" And he then made... _those_ eyes. I had heard tales of them, as a certain combination of facial cues that was impossible to resist. I had never given the idea any credence, and I do not think I would have ever been affected by them. However, this was _Sigmund_, and that knowledge somehow did indeed make them impossible to ignore.

I sighed. "How do I change?"

"You just... think about it. Just picture it, and it'll happen! Maybe closing your eyes will help."

I decided I would humor him. If only for a short while. I closed my optics and looked to the ground, forming an image of the Lombax I despised in my mind. I resisted the urge to mentally butcher it; I had no wishes to change into a dismembered mess. If nothing else, I had no doubts that it would... not prove to be popular with my companion.

After a moment's thought, I began to add and remove details. I did not want to appear as Ratchet himself, merely one of his species. It was a simple matter to adjust the color of the fur, alter the armor, change the eyes to the red I preferred -

"Wow, Klunk, I didn't think you'd go through with it!"

I opened my optics and looked down. The color was the same as I was used to, but the fur... the _flesh_... I was glad I could not hear my own insides sloshing around. I had not replicated an organic on anything more than a superficial level. Though even that...

"Hey, you alright?" Sigmund reached toward me. Presumably, to offer some type of comfort. It failed.

"Do not touch me." If I looked away from the - my - body, I could simply ignore it. It still felt as through I was robotic, and my vision was... not completely the same, as I could see a hint of a nose, but if I did not concentrate on it I found it would simply disappear.

"Sorry." Sigmund backed away a few steps, shoulders hunched. "If you wanna go back to-"

I snapped at him. "I am fine."

"Oh. Well, okay then. Um..." He looked around, no doubt attempting to find some type of distraction. Or something to do, at least; now that we were here, the dreamworld seemed remarkably... bland. I amused myself for a moment, imagining that we had used my dreamworld instead.

Sigmund, as was his wont, shattered my thoughts with his voice. "You know what? I bet we could do _anything_ here. Well, as long as we don't get hurt doing it. Is there anything you wanna try?"

I realized he was looking at me. Expectantly, I believe. "Yes," I replied shortly, "But you do not want to know."

To his credit, he only seemed puzzled for a few moments. "...Right. Um, how about... maybe something simple, first..." He lapsed into thought and I looked away, into the sky. Perhaps this had been a bad idea. Well, it had; perhaps it was bad that I had ignored my initial reaction and simply gone along with it. I had been agreeing with Sigmund a great deal... it was possible that I needed to distance myself from him for a time.

"That wasn't what I was trying to do, but it looks pretty neat anyway!"

I turned.

There was a massive wave of pink and red moving toward us over the plain. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was liquid interspersed with a great many tiny objects. I found that I did not particularly care what the wave was made of. "Sigmund..."

"Don't worry! It's made of fruit. They're called strawberries; they're really soft. It's fine!"

I pondered running. However, neither of us could hope to outrun it. "The wave is several dozen feet in height."

"...You've got a point there..."

I supposed having the wave crash over my back would be less damaging than taking it in the face, and thus I turned and hunched over. Of course, I am no expert in organic health, and Sigmund seemed to be only mildly worried. I was not sure whether that was good or bad; on one hand, it could be that the wave would cause no damage. On the other, it was entirely possible his mind had not yet grasped the... unreality of the situation he had conjured.

The first quality I noticed of the wave was its temperature. The second was its texture, and the third was its weight. It was comfortably warm and rather smooth, and its weight was merely an afterthought simply because it _had_ no negligible weight. Far from the immense impact I had expected, the wave seemed to settle gently over my frame. This, unfortunately, did not stop me from failing to float to its surface, and of course my first thought was the worry that it would damage my internals. The knowledge that I currently occupied the form of an organic was entirely removed from my mind.

It swept me - us - along for several agonizing seconds as I struggled to find a way to escape it. I could not be certain even of gravity's pull and which way the surface was. The wave slowed around me, enough to be noticeable, and I thought I could detect the surface. A hand grabbed hold of mine. An organic hand, and in my panic I came very close to attacking it.

Sigmund was spared a broken wrist only by the sudden drop in the wave's height. I was deposited on what felt like solid ground and likely would have let out a sigh in relief if it were not for the fact that I was still buried in fruit and the remnants of the liquid.

Struggling out was no easy task, as every movement I made seemed to simply shift everything around me, after which it would settle back into its original position. Mere moments passed before I could detect another force, moving fruit out of the way -

The first thing I saw was the sky, impossibly blue after the wave of fruit. The second was Sigmund, who to my surprise looked rather worried. "Klunk! Are you alright? You went under and you're smaller than me, and..."

There was no hesitation. I laughed.

Sigmund's babbling stopped instantly and he blinked his organic eyes down at me. "What's so funny?"

I reached out of my squishy prison and wiped a hand over his head. "You are covered in pulped fruit." The grin was there before I could stop it, though I would be lying if I said I wanted to. I supposed there was some kind of aphrodisiac in the fruit... it would work as an excuse, at any rate.

He blinked again and stared at my hand for a moment, and the pulp and leaves stuck to it. He seemed to ponder a moment - and then his own hand darted forwards and grasped mine. He then began to lick the remnants of the fruit off my fingers. My expression must have been a rather strange one (frankly, I would be astonished if it were not), because he began to laugh.

I have heard very little 'happy' laughter in my life. None of it has ever been created through my actions or words. Hearing Sigmund laugh... I have never heard such a delighted, carefree sound, and I doubt I will ever hear anything else able to measure up to it. To use an organic phrase, it utterly makes my day.

I was not reluctant to join him. I am not sure how long we laughed for. Long enough. Or perhaps not; I can admit, however reluctantly, that the experience is one that I will always look forward to repeating.

Sigmund continued long after I had stopped. "You shoulda seen the look on your face...!"

An idea came to me. I blamed it on the aphrodisiacs. "Perhaps I can." I pushed all conscious thought from my mind, willing to ignore both of our squishy natures at the moment, and took one of Sigmund's pulp-covered hands in mine. I then proceeded to methodically lick all traces of fruit from his fur.

By the time I was finished, I was fairly certain I could hear a faint purring. Part of me was somewhat disgusted, but the look on my companion's face was enough to prompt me to ignore it. I am no expert in organic expressions, but I believe it was a combination of astonishment and absolute glee.

"Hey, that felt kinda nice! Like an oil bath or something." He made his joyful laugh again. Organic eyes have a way of half-closing when their owner is happy; it was remarkably strange to watch. "We should do this more often."

I was not as opposed to the idea as I had originally thought. Still, _becoming_ an organic, even in my own mind, was not a thought I wanted to entertain. "Perhaps. First, however, I believe I require assistance in getting out..."

"Oh, but... you look so comfy."

I could not quite believe my audios... or ears, as it were. And I was sure his smile had changed in its type. Somewhat... _mischievous_... "What do you -"

"In fact, I think I kinda want to join you!"

I was reminded uncomfortably of a group of Zoni that had just discovered some great joke to play. "Sigmund -"

Before I could protest further, he dove into my squishy prison, and it was all I could do not to... 'freak out', I believe the term is. The already-cramped space was made even more so, and there was the matter of my own dimmed senses, and of the furred body pressed against mine. It was -

...Comfortable.

I stared up at the blue sky yet again, trying to process what error my mind had created. How could I be comfortable...? In the form of an organic, pressed against another organic, in a small space that would no doubt prove difficult to get out of, and yet. And yet.

"See, what'd I tell ya? Comfy!"

I felt an arm snake around my midsection. I blinked. Surely he had not... but no; a look down at Sigmund's grinning face confirmed it.

"You planned this."

"Wellll... _maybe_..."

I am loathe to use 'giggled' in any context, but I could think of no better word for the laugh that escaped him. And of course he would be truthful. His mind had been given to him by the Zoni, after all, and by extension his moments of brilliance would manifest in the oddest of ways. An elaborate plot to... 'snuggle' was of course a reasonable way to invest his intelligence.

"But that's not a _bad_ thing, right? I mean, I bet you agree with me..."

He gave me The Expression again, and again I found myself unable to resist. "...If you insist." I replied with a sigh. Arguing would be pointless.

"Good! I knew you would."

I watched, one-part irritated and one-part bemused, as he twisted his way through the fruit to lay flush against me. It was easier to simply give up than struggle. Besides which - this was not an actual organic. It was not hard to see the robot instead. I did not mind _this_ particular organic so much, regardless...

"And, you know what?" Sigmund murmured into my side, "You're even comfier than the strawberries."

I found I did not want to stop the smile that creeped upon me. Perhaps I could get used to this after all.


End file.
